


What He Needs

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-01
Updated: 2006-02-28
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:55:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8078803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Malcolm tries to move on, but love conspires against him. (09/14/2005)





	1. PART 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers: 4.20 "Demons," 4.21 "Terra Prime," general Season 4.

This fic is for all of you who wanted more after reading 'What I Want'. It's set immediately after 4.21 "Terra Prime," and, like its predecessor, is told from Malcolm's POV.

Thanks to GroovyGoddess and MeanOldCow for betaing. Any mistakes that remain are mine and mine alone.  


* * *

> Love. The black hook. The spear singing through the mind.
> 
> â€”Louise Erdrich, 'Love Medicine'

His daughter is dead and I don't know what to say to him. He carries a pain I can't even begin to comprehend. I want to be supportive. I want to help him. But I don't know how to do that and protect myself at the same time, so instead I watch him silently from across the mess hall.

It's late and we're the only ones here. He's sitting in the far corner with a glass of milk and a piece of pecan pie. He hasn't touched either one. His face is pale and pinched with grief and there is a bleak emptiness in his eyes that frightens me. 

He hasn't noticed me sitting here in the shadows. 

Our relationship ended months ago, but not in the way I had expected it to. He didn't leave me for T'Pol, at least not immediately. Instead he fled Enterprise altogether. He hadn't even had the decency to tell me that he was leaving. The first I knew of it was when Archer had made the announcement to the senior staff. 

I shouldn't have been surprised. I always knew that he would leave me. But it still came as a terrible shock when he walked away from me without a single word of explanation. 

After Trip left, my life began a sudden downward spiral. My past as a covert operative came back to haunt me like some vengeful ghost, and I found myself in the unenviable position of having to lie to my commanding officer. In retrospect, I had been a fool not to tell Archer what was going on from the very beginning, but I had felt bound by older oaths of loyalty and silence. 

I'm still paying a heavy price for my stupidity. My interactions with Archer and the rest of the crew have suffered. They once trusted me implicitly; now, I'm viewed with a certain degree of suspicion. What faith the crew still has in me comes only from the fact that Archer didn't have me court-martialed or thrown off the ship. They trust his judgment even if they no longer trust mine. 

If Trip had stayed on Columbia, I might have been better off. I would have been able to pick up the tattered pieces of my life and at least tried to move on. But he came back. He returned as he had left, without a single word of warning to me, and I could only watch in dismay as he and T'Pol resumed their turbulent relationship. 

Trip pretends that nothing ever happened between us; that we're just good friends. He acts like he's never fucked me, or told me that he loves me. In response, I pretend that I'm not the jilted lover and try to act like I don't care that he and T'Pol are together. 

Keeping up the pretense wearies me beyond belief. Whatever friendship we still share is a hollow thing, eaten up from within by pain and betrayal. And yet here I am, sitting the mess hall, watching over him from the shadows. Because I still love him, even if we are no longer friends. 

He pokes listlessly at the slice of pie. Suddenly he drops the fork and buries his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. I'm caught in indecision. It seems cruel to let him suffer alone, but I hesitate to offer anything of myself to him, even the faint comfort of a one-time friend. 

We were all shocked to learn that Trip and T'Pol had a daughter. The news seemed to bring them even closer together and I found myself resenting an infant I had never seen. But I still did everything in my power to help find her. I even sold myself back to Harris and his bloody Section for information about Terra Prime and their link to her. I didn't do it because Archer asked me to, but because I wanted to help Trip. And now Harris has a new hold on meâ€”one that I know he won't let go without a fight. I slipped his leash once; he will not allow it again. 

It was a high price to pay to find a dying child, but I know how important family is to Trip. At least he got to hold her, to connect with her as a father before she died. I hope he's able to take some comfort in that. 

I watch as he weeps for her. His pain is overwhelming and I can no longer simply sit by and observe. I stand, but before I can take a single step toward him, the mess hall door opens. 

T'Pol's eyes meet mine for the briefest of seconds before they slide away. I see things in them that I shouldn'tâ€”sorrow, anger, and something else that I can't quite identify. Perhaps she has been living among us humans for too long, or perhaps the death of a child can rattle even a Vulcan. 

She walks over to Trip and places her hand on his shoulder without speaking. He clutches at it desperately. As soon as their hands touch, they are together in a way that I can't really put into words. Their shared grief binds them to one another almost as tightly as a living child would have. 

I stand frozen in the shadows. I am the outsider here. I think maybe I always have been.


	2. PART 2

PART 2 

_"Love won't be tampered with, love won't go away. Push it to one side and it creeps to the other."_

\--Louise Erdrich, 'The Bingo Palace' 

The days pass slowly. I do my best to avoid Trip outside of duty. He made his choice and it wasn't me. Time to accept it and move on with my life. 

Since Enterprise is stuck in orbit around Earth until the multi-species conference is over, I decided to perform a complete overhaul of the weapons systems. I throw myself into my work, routinely pulling double shifts. My self-imposed schedule is punishing but my resulting exhaustion helps me to fall asleep at the end of each day.

______________________________

I emerge suddenly from a deep and dreamless sleep. I blink in the heavy darkness of my quarters and try to determine what woke me. As I sit up, the door chime rings. A quick glance at the chronometer confirms that it's very late.

"This better be important." I mutter. I bring up the lights just enough to banish the darkness to the corners of the room and quickly pull on enough clothing to be decent. 

As the door slides open, a strong sense of deja vu washes over me. Trip is standing there, dressed in ragged sweats and a t-shirt. I'm surprised to see him and wonder what he wants. 

"Uh, hi Malcolm. Can I come in?" He shifts nervously from foot to foot. He looks terrible. His face is pale and there are dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. My heart wrenches at the sight, but I know I shouldn't let him in. I've discovered the hard way that letting Trip in is dangerous. 

"It's late." I say, blocking the doorway with my body. 

"I know. Please." 

"Trip..." 

"Please, Malcolm." I sigh and step aside. I wonder what it is about him that makes me act in ways that go against my better judgment. 

"What do you want?" I ask wearily as the door closes behind him. 

"I need...I don't want to be alone. Can I stay here tonight?" His voice shakes. "I just need to be with someone..." I've heard this before. 

"Trip." I say sharply. "Don't. I can't do this again." He moves forward suddenly, pressing me up against the bulkhead. His hand touches my face as his mouth closes over mine in a frantic needy kiss. I can almost taste his desperation. I try to pull away. 

"No." My voice is laced with anger. I insinuate my hands between us and roughly shove him away. He looks at me with anguish in his eyes, but I can't be what he needs. Not this time. 

"Get out." I say. He doesn't move. "Get out!" I take a menacing step forward, but stop short of touching him. I don't know what will happen if I do. He opens his mouth to say something but then closes it again. He doesn't look back as he leaves.

______________________________

Trip's late-night visit left me utterly drained, and as a result I'm having trouble concentrating on my work. Damn him. What the hell was he expecting from me anyway? I shake my head angrily and force my attention back to the schematics on the screen in front of me.

My comm beeps, indicating an incoming message from Earth. I have the sinking feeling that I know who it's from. My instincts aren't wrong. 

"Good morning, Lieutenant." Harris gazes smugly at me through the small view screen. 

"What do you want?" I'm brusque to the point of rudeness. I'm in no mood to deal with him today. 

"I have a small piece of information that you might find useful." Harris says, clearly amused by my response to him. 

"Oh?" I say, keeping my voice disinterested. He already has what he wants from me, so I see no point in playing this particular game. 

"Yes." Harris says. "In fact, I think you'll be very interested in hearing what I have to say." I sigh. 

"What is it? I don't have time for idle chitchat." 

"We've received intelligence that suggests Terra Prime is planning to assassinate Archer." Adrenaline floods through my body, but I keep my face carefully impassive. "Not too surprising, really." Harris continues. "Not only does Terra Prime blame Enterprise for many of the recent alien problems, but they also hold Archer personally responsible for Paxton's death." 

"Do you have any concrete information on how or when they're planning to do this?" I ask. 

"No. But this comes from a credible source. You may have cut the head off of Terra Prime, but the body isn't quite dead yet. I'm sure they think that killing Archer would send that message to Starfleet loud and clear." 

"Yes. It would." I'm already thinking about what new security measures to put into place. Protecting Archer is going to be a logistical nightmare, and yet I find myself almost welcoming this new crisis.

______________________________

Predictably, Archer is not happy with the new security protocols. He balks against my efforts to protect him. If I had my way he would have bodyguards with him around the clock, but he flatly rejects that proposal. I'm irritated by his refusal--after all, we've already had one Terra Prime agent on board--but there is little I can do about it. He outranks me.

In the end, we make compromises that leave neither one of us satisfied. After hours of arguing, he finally agrees to go armed at all times, and to accept bodyguards when he has to go down to Earth for diplomatic functions. I would have been happier banning visitors from Enterprise altogether, but eventually have to settle for careful visitor screening and restricting guest access to certain critical areas of the ship. We both agree that it would be best to use the transporter rather than the shuttlepods as the primary means of transportation to and from Earth. 

I request permission to have manual security inspections run on all of the ship's critical systems. The possibility of sabotage is very real. We have had too many visitors aboard in the last few days for my comfort and I can't discount the idea of another internal agent. 

Archer frowns and argues that we can't pull that much manpower off the upgrade work. I stand firm. This isn't a matter of just his safety, but that of the entire crew. For all her speed and power, Enterprise is vulnerable to attacks from within. Archer eventually sighs and gives in. I suspect that he's just humoring me. It annoys me that he isn't taking this threat or my concerns seriously, but I don't know what else I can do to convince him.

______________________________

"Tucker to Reed." My heart lurches in my chest at the sound of Trip's voice, but I ignore it.

"Reed here." I reply evenly. 

"Can you come down to the transporter room for a second?" 

"On my way, Commander." 

Trip meets me at the door. He's holding a fist-sized device in his hand. 

"I thought you were just bein' paranoid," he says "but we found a problem. We found this connected to the pattern buffers. We're still trying to figure out exactly what it was supposed to do. Nothing good I bet. I've taken the whole transporter system offline for now. I don't think anyone should use it until we've had a chance to go over every part of it with a fine-tooth comb." 

"Any idea how long that's been there?" I ask. 

"Not exactly, but we transported some folks up with no problems less than two days ago, so I imagine that it was put there within the last day and a half." Within the last day and a half--that's well after Ensign Masaro killed himself. 

"So what you're telling me is that we've had another security breach." I rub my hands over my face. Archer is due down at Starfleet headquarters in just over an hour and we have no secure form of transportation. "What about the shuttlepods? Do they check out?" 

"Yeah. No problems there. We left your guys guarding them." Everything critical is now guarded in at least twos. The watchers watch each other as well as the rest of the crew. I hate that it's necessary, but I can't afford to trust anyone. 

"All right." I say. "You'll let me know if you find anything else?" 

"Yeah. Of course." 

"Thank you Commander."

______________________________

Archer is not happy. "But you said Trip found the problem." He argues when I tell him that using the transporter is out of the question.

"Commander Tucker found a problem," I say "but he hasn't finished checking the entire system. I suggest we wait until he does so. I wouldn't care to arrive inside-out." Archer gives me a sickly smile. 

"Good point. What about the shuttlepods? Have those been checked?" I hesitate before answering. 

"Yes. They're clean. But it's a far riskier form of transportation. It would give any assassin a lot of opportunities. It might be best if you attend the meeting via comm instead." Archer scowls at me. 

"I can't do that! How will that look to the delegates? I don't want to give them the impression that we aren't in control of the situation." 

"We aren't in control of it." I say in frustration. "We've had a major security breach. It will look far worse to the delegates if you're assassinated. I strongly recommend that..." "Lieutenant," Archer interrupts me. "I will not let Terra Prime and their threats have us running scared. Is that understood?" His voice is hard and unyielding and I know that further protests are useless. 

"Yes sir." I say stiffly. Archer goes over to the comm. 

"Archer to Mayweather." 

"Mayweather here, sir." 

"Have Shuttlepod One prepped for departure." 

"Sir," I say suddenly "have him prep both shuttles." Archer frowns in confusion. 

"Both of them?" He asks. 

"We'll use one as a decoy. We'll try to add as much confusion to the mix as we can." Archer shoots me an exasperated look, but amends his orders to Travis. 

There are two landing ports at Starfleet headquarters, and a small pubic landing port several kilometers away. The terrorists will probably be expecting us to take the most direct and secure route and one of the shuttlepods will do just that. The other one I plan on sending to the public port. 

I suppress a sigh. I don't like this one bit. We've been sabotaged and whoever did it may still be on board feeding information back to Terra Prime. Archer's insistence on going down to Earth for the meeting will, in my opinion, expose him to an unacceptable level of risk. How can I protect him when he won't listen to me? 

We've avoided one trap. But I can't help but wonder if we are walking straight into another.

______________________________

I scrutinize the public landing port through the shuttlepod window. Everything looks completely ordinary, but something about the scene makes me uneasy, causing the hair on the back of my neck to rise. Our security scan has revealed no nearby weapon signatures, but signatures can be masked and scans can be wrong.

I stare intently at the shadows. I catch a hint of movement in the narrow band of green space that surrounds the landing port. The landscaping was intended to beautify the port, but I don't see any beauty in the trees and rocks at the moment, only danger. 

"There's movement out there." I say softly to the others. 

"Where?" Crewman Guillermo Mendez and Ensign Terezia Kadinski join me. Of all my people they have the most experience in providing personal security. 

"Over there, by that large rock." 

"I don't see anything." Kadinski says after a few moments of silent searching. 

"I don't either." Mendez says almost apologetically. 

"We should run another scan of the area just to be sure." I say. 

"We don't have time." Archer breaks in, rising from his seat. "We're late as it is." 

"Sir," I say, "I don't think..." 

"Lieutenant, we don't have time to be jumping at shadows. This is a public port; you can't expect it to be completely deserted. We've taken plenty of precautions." 

"Sir..." 

"Enough." Archer growls as he reaches out to tug on the hatch release mechanism. 

Damn him. He's ignoring every single safety rule that I've laid out for him. I start toward him. At this point I'm willing to risk an assault charge to stop him from leaving the shuttlepod. 

Through the now open hatch, I catch a tiny glimpse of something metallic disappearing into the shadows by the trees. It could be anything. But I know it's not. 

I lunge forward. Pain explodes down my right side as I crash into Archer, and a bare fraction of a second later I hear the sharp pop, pop, pop of an old-fashioned projectile weapon being fired. No wonder our scan didn't pick it up. 

"Get us out of here! Now!" Kadinski shouts above the commotion. I hear a phase pistol whine as someone returns fire. 

The shuttlepod lurches violently into the air, engines screaming. Archer and I slide a bit along the deck as Travis takes us up at a dangerously sharp angle. People are yelling, but I can't quite make out what is being said over the rush of wind through the open hatch. I know I should get up to help close it, but the air has suddenly become unbearably thin and I'm having trouble catching my breath. A heavy thump runs through the shuttlepod as someone finally manages to get the hatch closed. 

"Damn!" Archer shrugs free of my protective grasp and sits up. His sudden motion causes me to flop awkwardly onto my back. I try to push myself up off the floor, but I can't summon the strength to do so. 

"Malcolm?" Archer leans forward into my field of vision. 

"Fine. I'm fine." I manage to gasp. I blink at the blood running down Archer's face. "You're bleeding sir." My efforts to protect him have failed. I'm deeply annoyed with him and with myself. We were damn lucky. If the gunman hadn't gotten restless, Archer would be dead. 

"Quiet." Archer's voice is tight and harsh and I flinch a little at the stern reprimand. "Just lie still. Don't try to talk." 

Kadinski joins us, med kit in hand. She presses a wad of field dressings hard against my chest. They quickly turn bright red and I suddenly realize that I've been hit. 

"Oh." I say faintly. I want laugh at the irony of it all but there isn't enough air in the shuttlepod. 

"Sir, could you keep pressure on this?" Kadinski's voice is strained. I don't think she's talking to me. "Mendez, help me get him over." 

There are hands on my shoulder and hip and someone cradles my head gently as I'm pulled over onto my side. I find myself staring at someone's knee. The deck of the shuttlepod and the leg of the person's uniform are dark with blood--a lot of blood. I wonder if it's all mine. 

"Oh, God." Someone says in a strangled voice. The exclamation of dismay echoes strangely in my ears. "It went right through him." 

It's getting harder to breath; my chest is heaving with the effort of pulling in enough oxygen. Something builds in the back of my throat and, unable to stop myself, I cough. I taste salt and iron as blood bubbles into my mouth. It spills over my lips, and slides wetly down the side of my face. 

Hands press with unyielding force against my chest and back, awakening an absolute agony that shoots through my entire body. Tears of pain spring into my eyes and I feel a vague sense of shame when I can't stop them from falling. A soft whimper escapes from my lips along with another thin foaming trickle of blood. People are talking but I'm having trouble keeping up with everything they're saying. 

"Easy, Malcolm. Just hang on." 

A hypospray hisses against my neck and, after a few seconds, my agony abates into a duller kind of pain. A compassionate hand brushes gently against my forehead. The touch reminds me of Trip and I feel an intense pang of regret. This isn't how things are supposed to end. 

"Trip...tell Trip..." I struggle to speak but my mouth is filling with blood again. It doesn't really matter. Words are inadequate, empty. And I don't know what I could say to him except that I wish things had been different. 

A gloved finger sweeps through my mouth and I gag slightly. The reflex rouses the brutal pain in my chest again, and I moan in anguish. The sound is muffled by the oxygen mask that someone presses against my face. 

There is a tearing sound as the sleeve of my uniform is slit from cuff to shoulder. The air feels unbearably cold against my skin. Something sharp stabs into my arm and I try to pull away from this new pain but hands are holding me in place. 

"Stay with us Malcolm." 

I try to concentrate on the voices, but they seem very far away now. 

"Travis, what's our ETA?" 

"Almost there sir. We'll be in range of the docking arm in less than a minute. A trauma team is standing by." 

An endless gray mist is eating at my eyesight. Everything around me has become vague and indistinct. 

"His blood pressure is dropping. He's going into shock." 

Another hypospray bites against my neck, but I barely feel it. 

"Stay with us, Malcolm. We're almost there. Just stay with us." 

I try, but consciousness is rapidly slipping away from me. I'm pretty sure that I'm dying and I wish that Trip were here. Darkness claws at me and pulls me under. 

It wasn't supposed to end this way...

______________________________

Consciousness comes back to me in fits and starts. Familiar voices fade in and out of my awareness, but I can never quite comprehend what they're saying. I manage to open my eyes a few times. Once I think I see someone sitting next to me before my vision blurs and goes dark again. I think it might have been my great uncle, but I know that can't be right.

______________________________

I can smell soil and green growing things, but the rich earthy scents are overlaid by the sharp odor of antiseptic. I recognize the combination. I'm in sickbay.

I blink blearily in the bright light. I'm lying face down on a bed. My back aches quite badly. I try to push myself over onto my side, but a hand presses down lightly against my shoulder, preventing my movement. 

"Ah, ah, Lieutenant." Phlox's voice is strangely loud in my ears. "Please remain still. The Altashian algae colony has finally settled in. It wouldn't do to disturb it." I have no idea what he's talking about and it seems far easier to just let myself sink back into oblivion.

______________________________

My arm stings and itches. Without opening my eyes, I reach over to scratch it, but strong fingers close around my wrist.

"Leave it be, Malcolm." Startled, I open my eyes. Archer is sitting next to me. 

"Captain." My voice slurs and Archer smiles at me. 

"How are you feeling?" He asks. I have to think about the answer for a long time. 

"Fine. What happened?" 

"You were shot." 

"Oh." I say. I'm not sure I remember that part. 

"You saved my life." He says. 

"That's nice." I reply. I'm not sure why, but I feel as if I'm floating. Part of me thinks I should be worried about that, but the rest of me doesn't really care. My arm is itching again and I glance at the needle that is embedded in my forearm. I frown. "Why is that there?" 

"What?" Archer asks. 

"That. In my arm. It itches." 

"Oh. It's just an IV line. Leave it alone." 

"But it itches." I protest. "I don't need it. I feel fine." 

"You feel fine because of the medication. Trust me, you wouldn't be very happy if Phlox stopped giving it to you." 

"If you say so, sir." I reply. My voice sounds strange and blurry. The world begins to spin a bit so I close my eyes. 

"Get some rest Malcolm." Archer says as I slide back into darkness.

______________________________

Pain greets me the next time I surface into consciousness but I feel a little more alert and my memory isn't quite so hazy. I slowly push myself up into a sitting position. My body aches in protest.

I look down at the gelatinous bandage on my bare chest. Curious, I peel it away. The wound beneath is small but ugly, and there's some kind of rippling green goo inside of it. I decide I really don't want to know what it is and quickly press the bandage back into place. I start to swing my legs over the side of the bed. 

"Ah, Lieutenant! Awake again, I see." Phlox's voice makes me jump slightly. He pushes through the curtain that surrounds my little corner of sickbay. "I think it would be best if you remain where you are for now." 

"I can't." I say. "I need to get back on duty." 

"No you don't. You need to rest." Phlox says, pushing me back down onto the bed. I try to resist but there's no strength in my body. 

"No." I struggle to explain. "They knew. They were waiting for us down there. We have another spy on board. I have to..." 

"As I've explained to you before, that's been taken care of." 

"What?" I ask in confusion. "What do you mean 'taken care of'?" 

"The gunman was caught and his accomplice on board has also been taken into custody." 

"Oh. Who...?" 

"Crewman Stratton." Phlox says. 

Damn. Stratton was one of mine, and the betrayal stings. Now I know how Archer must have felt when he discovered that I had lied to him about the Rigellian ship. I frown at Phlox. 

"Are you sure you told me this before?" I ask. "I don't remember any of this." Phlox gives me a reassuring smile. 

"You were heavily medicated at the time. You should be feeling a little more lucid now." 

"I suppose." I don't feel terribly clearheaded at the moment. I feel confused and off-balance. "How long do I have to stay here?" 

"Several days yet, Lieutenant. The bullet passed through your right lung and exited out your back, just below your shoulder blade. It caused significant damage that will take quite some time to heal. Sleep really is the best thing for you right now so I suggest that you lie back down and get some rest." 

"All right." I find myself agreeing with surprising docility. I'm tired of dealing with catastrophes and betrayals. For once, I'm content to let someone else take care of it all.

______________________________

He's here. I know it before I even open my eyes. The lights in sickbay are dim. It must be the night cycle. Trip is sitting next to my bedside. He looks almost as bad as I feel. I wonder what the hell he wants from me this time.

"Hey." He says softly when he notices my eyes are open. He reaches out and brushes the hair back from my forehead. I jerk away from the contact. 

"Don't." I say sharply. 

"Malcolm..." 

"Why are you here?" I'm startled by how weak my voice sounds. 

"I've been worried about you." He says. I just stare at him in disbelief. He fidgets in the chair before continuing, his voice low and hoarse. 

"God, Malcolm, I've been so worried. Seeing you like this...it makes me realize just how much I love you. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you too. I don't think I could bear it. After Lizzie and little 'Lisbeth, I don't think I could bear to loose you too." I should be happy to hear that he still loves me, but instead a terrible rage rises up into my aching chest. 

"You selfish fucking bastard!" The words tear out of me and he recoils as if slapped. "It's always about you, isn't it? Your pain, your anger, your needs! You walked away from me like I was nothing!" I'm finding it hard to breathe, but my fury doesn't abate. 

"Malcolm..." 

"Shut up!" I snarl. A medical alarm starts beeping, but I pay it no heed. "You left me. You left me, but you keep expecting me to be there for you. T'Pol doesn't give you everything you need and you want me to fill in the bloody gaps. Well go to hell Trip! I'm tired of being loved by you." I'm gasping and fighting for air. It feels like someone is pouring molten lead into my lungs. 

"Malcolm..." Trip says desperately. 

"Commander Tucker!" Phlox comes charging over to us like a raging bull. "I told you not to upset my patient!" I don't think I've ever heard him sound so angry. 

"But..." Trip starts to argue. 

"Leave." Phlox says. 

"I..." 

"Now." Phlox's tone brooks no argument and Trip has little choice but to go. I struggle for breath and watch him leave. I wish that just once I could be the one who walks away from him.

______________________________

The news media has somehow gotten hold of the story. People keep coming by to show me the newscasts. To my utter horror, they're calling me a hero--the armory officer who took a bullet for his captain. Bunch of blithering idiots. What do they know? What I did wasn't daring or heroic. It was desperate and last-ditch. They don't understand that what happened was the result of a massive failure on my part. If I had done my job properly there would be no story to tell.

The whole incident has left a bad taste in my mouth as well as a hole through my chest. But, like the media, the crew views it differently. I suppose I should be grateful that they do. My getting shot seems to have somehow restored their faith in me. Many well-wishers have come to visit me--Hoshi, Travis, Kadinski, the Captain... But Trip hasn't been back, not since that night. 

Archer has been one of my more persistent and frequent visitors. He's here now, relating some long and convoluted anecdote about a misunderstanding between the Tellerite and Vulcan ambassadors. I'm only half-listening. I hate to admit it, but I still tire very easily. 

To my mortification, Archer notices that I'm not really paying attention and quickly breaks off his story. "I'm sorry, Malcolm." He says. "I should go and let you get some rest." He gives me a friendly smile. "You need to hurry up and get well. My bridge is starting to look empty." 

"Sir?" I say, not quite sure what he means by that. 

"Well, with you on medical leave and Trip and T'Pol on Vulcan..." He shakes his head and pats me on the shoulder as he stands to leave. "Get some rest now." 

"Of course, sir." I say, fighting to keep my voice level. "Thank you for stopping by." I lie on the bed and stare up blankly at the ceiling. Trip and T'Pol have gone to Vulcan together. Archer obviously assumed that I already knew. But I'm always the last to know. 

Once again I have been left behind without warning or explanation. I don't know why it should be so painful. What had I expected anyway? That Trip would tell me that he was sorry? I can't help but think that if he truly loved me he would have apologized and tried to win me back. But I should know by now that he loves T'Pol far more than he ever loved me.

______________________________

Phlox releases me from sickbay on the same day that Enterprise breaks orbit and resumes her mission. Neither Trip nor T'Pol are on board.

I spend my days sleeping and catching up on a three weeks worth of armory reports. I would prefer to inspect the overhauled systems in person, but Phlox threatened to strap me down on a biobed and sedate me if I didn't stay out of the armory for at least another two weeks. He says he doesn't want me undoing all of his hard work. I think he's overreacting--he wouldn't have let me out of sickbay if he felt my condition was at all unstable. But I also have the feeling that he would make good on his threat if I disobey his orders, so I make do with the reports for now. 

I try to interact normally with the rest of the crew. I go to movie night with Travis, eat breakfast with Phlox and Hoshi, give Tanner advice on how to deal with the temperamental targeting scanners, and trade pleasantries with Captain Archer when we cross paths in the corridors. Even so, I feel oddly isolated. It's as if I'm encased in a thick layer of ice and nothing but the cold can touch me. 

There is a lot wild speculation among the crew about why Trip and T'Pol left. I do my best not to listen to any of it and never bother to ask anyone who might actually know the truth because it's none of my business. Not anymore.

______________________________

He's back on Enterprise. Again. I saw him going into the captain's mess shortly after the Vulcan transport ship arrived. He didn't notice me sitting alone in the corner with my tea. Rumor has it that T'Pol didn't come back with him. I guess she decided to stay on Vulcan for a while longer. I wish he had just stayed there with her.

Despite the pain from my wound, I decide to forgo the analgesics that Phlox gave me in favor of a very fine bottle of scotch. It takes me a while to unearth it from the back of my closet. I'd been saving it for some unspecified special occasion that has never arrived. And probably never will. 

I crack the seal and pour a hefty dose into a mug. It's a disrespectful way to serve such a fine liquor--only a little less crass than drinking it straight from the bottle. The scotch is old and meant to be savored but I toss it down quickly without tasting it. I reach for the bottle and pour some more.

______________________________

The door chime rings. Somehow I know that it's him.

"Come in." I call recklessly, not bothering to get up. The door slides open and he steps into the room. He stops just inside. He doesn't say anything. 

"What do you want?" I ask. I pour myself another shot and gulp it down. Trip doesn't answer. I slam the mug down on the nightstand and climb off the bed. I'm drunk. I can tell because the floor tilts beneath my feet like the deck of a sailboat on the open sea. I stop in front of Trip, glaring angrily. 

"Did she dump you again?" I ask. "Is that why you're here? Do you fancy a quick fuck now?" He says nothing; just stands there staring at me like he's never seen me before. 

My chest aches with something that is beyond physical pain, but whatever it is I cannot put a name to it. I begin to strip my clothes off, dropping them carelessly to the floor, my movements sharp and jerky. 

"Is this what you want?" I ask, gesturing at my naked body. 

Trip looks back at me mutely, desolation in his eyes. I turn and brace my hands on the desk, spreading my legs wide. I'm shaking but I don't care. I want him to take what I'm offering because it will be ugly enough to make me to stop loving him. And everything would be so much easier if I could simply stop loving him, if I could excise him completely from my heart like so much dead and gangrenous flesh. 

"Well," I ask, "what are you waiting for? Go ahead. Take what you want. It's what you always do." 

His hand touches my back, fingers ghosting over the deep ragged scar below my shoulder blade. More proof that exit wounds always leave the most damage behind. I close my eyes and shiver beneath the caress, but don't move away. 

"Malcolm." He whispers. He takes my hand and leads me over to the bed. For a terrible breathtaking moment I think that he's going to kiss me, but he only brushes his fingers along my cheek, smearing a warm wetness over my skin. It's only then that I realize I'm crying. 

Trip pulls the blanket off the foot of my bunk and carefully wraps me up in it. He eases us both down onto the bed and holds me gently in warm circle of his arms. I let him because I can do nothing else. I feel like someone has ripped my guts out, leaving me hollow and empty. All I can do is lie there and tremble. 

"I'm sorry." He says softly. "I'm so sorry."

______________________________

I wake up naked and alone. Abandoned again. I'm not surprised. My head is throbbing, my stomach is queasy, and my wound aches like bone-deep grief. Perhaps the scotch hadn't been such a good idea after all.

I sit up slowly, trying to keep my stomach on an even keel. I spy a cup of water and a small pill bottle sitting on the nightstand. A scrawled note rests beside them. I pick up the scrap of paper and read the short message: 'Thought you might need this. Phlox says it's okay to take it with your pain meds--Trip'. I pick up the pill bottle and shake out one of the bright orange tablets. I recognize it as Phlox's hangover cure. 

I'm startled by the simple kindness of the gesture. I had long ago ceased to expect such consideration from Trip. I swallow the pill and then burrow back under the blanket. 

The next time I wake it's well after noon. The headache and queasiness are gone but I'm terribly thirsty and my wound still throbs with a miserable ache. Reluctantly, I force myself to get up and go into the bathroom. 

I scrabble around in the medicine cabinet until I find the hypospray that Phlox had given me. I quickly inject the painkiller into my arm, sighing in relief when the drug hits my bloodstream. I drink several glasses of water. Then I crawl back into bed and go to sleep because it seems like the easiest and least painful thing to do. 

In the end, hunger drives me from my bed. I drag myself out from under the covers and make my way into the bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror. I look like hell. My face is pale and drawn and there are bleak shadows residing in my eyes. The scar on my chest is red and inflamed. My heart feels just as raw. 

Out of habit I reach for my shaver. Strangely, it helps. I look and feel a little less haggard without the stubble. I take a quick shower and then dress in jeans and a comfortable sweatshirt before venturing out to the mess hall. 

The mess is empty. I grab a cup of tea, a sandwich and a bowl of fruit salad. I wolf down the sandwich without really tasting it and then turn my attention to the fruit. There are bits of pineapple mixed in with the grapes and chunks of apple and orange. I carefully hunt them out and eat them first, savoring the acidic sweetness of each piece. It's an old and childish habit that I very rarely engage in anymore, but I feel the need to indulge myself. Besides, I'm alone and there's no one around to comment on my behavior. 

I'm thinking about having another cup of tea when the door opens and several tired-looking crewmen straggle in. They are the beginning of the alpha shift dinner crowd. Soon the mess hall will be packed. 

Although the food has improved my mood slightly, I really don't feel like dealing with other people right now. I don't want to smile and make small talk and pretend that everything is fine. I make my retreat before anyone notices me.

______________________________

The door to the lounge slides open. I'm a little startled by it. I didn't think anyone else would come in here this late. I turn to see Trip standing uneasily in the doorway. The light from the corridor spills around him like a halo.

"Oh," He says faintly. "I didn't know anyone was in here. I...I'll go." 

"You can stay if you want." I say, thinking about kindness and bright orange pills. 

"Are you sure?" He asks uncertainly. 

"Yes." 

He chooses a chair a safe distance away from the sofa I'm curled up on. We sit quietly for a long time, watching the stars slide by. 

"Malcolm, are you okay?" Trip asks suddenly. His voice is soft in the dark room. 

"I don't know. I don't think so." I don't look at him because it's easier to tell the truth to the stars. "Are you?" "No." He says with a shaky exhalation. A brittle silence falls. We sit in the shadows, lost in thought and memory. 

"Trip," I say finally, "why did you go to Vulcan?" 

"Do you really want to know?" He asks. I hesitate before answering. 

"Yes." I say. He doesn't speak immediately. I wait patiently in the darkness. 

"T'Pol, she... When we slept together some sort of psychic bond formed between us." His voice is so soft that I have to strain to hear it. "I didn't...I never wanted it. And I didn't know. I didn't know what had happened. I kept having these dreams about her. I didn't know what they meant. I was with you, but I kept thinkin' about her. I thought that maybe it meant that I was supposed to be with her. That I loved her. I didn't know what to do." 

"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask. 

"How could I? I couldn't tell you that I was dreamin' about her nearly every night after we... I didn't know what to do." 

"So you ran." I can't help the bitterness in my voice. "You just left. I didn't even know you were leaving until the Captain..." I stop, biting down hard on my lower lip. I stare fixedly out the window until I regain my composure. 

"I know." Trip says. "I'm sorry. I just had to get away. I thought if I could get away from her, I could... I don't know. I don't know what I was doin'. But it didn't work. She was still in my head. I thought that meant that I loved her, so I came back. But it was so complicated." 

I keep my gaze riveted on the window as he continues, "She told me what had happened. I was mad at her at first, but it wasn't really her fault. She didn't know that it could happen with a human. And then there was everything with little Elizabeth and..." His voice falters. I turn my face away from the stars to look at him. I can see the tear tracks on his face, glittering in the faint light. He wipes them away with the back of his hand. "And then you got injured. And I realized that all this time it was you I really wanted to be with. She was in my head, Malcolm, but you were in my heart. That never changed. I just didn't understand until you nearly died." He looks at me with a quick, almost furtive, glance. I say nothing. 

"I told T'Pol that we needed to get rid of the bond. It was hurting us all, you, me; even her. It wasn't good for her to be linked to me. It made her act all strange and irrational. We needed to get rid of it. But it wasn't that simple." He gives a short bitter laugh. "Never is, is it? We had to go to Vulcan to undergo this ritual to break it." 

His voice shakes with emotion and I know that whatever the ritual involved it left him wounded in some way. The revelation startles and saddens me. 

"It was..." His voice trails off and he takes a deep shuddering breath before continuing. "T'Pol decided to stay at the Sanctuary, but I just wanted to come home. But now that I am... I don't know how to fix this." He says despairingly. I avert my eyes from the pain I see on his face. 

"I don't know if it can be fixed." I say softly. 

"Malcolm?" He asks. "What do you want?" 

"I don't know." I say helplessly. "I don't know anymore."

______________________________

I try my best to make small talk with Trip over lunch. It isn't easy. I'm not good at it and Trip's easy charm seems to simply disappear when he's alone with me. But still, I try.

As long as we're talking about work, things seem almost normal, but as soon as we venture beyond the technical, the exchange becomes stilted and difficult. I'm not quite sure why we're forcing ourselves to interact with one another. All I can think of is that somehow, during that bleak conversation in the lounge, we made an unspoken agreement to try to salvage something of our friendship. 

I don't think it's working. I can see no signs of improvement. I find it incredibly painful to sit here and talk to Trip. It would be easier to just give up. Except, for some reason, I don't want to.

______________________________

"Damn it, Malcolm! What part of no don't you understand?" Trip throws his hands up in exasperation.

"Commander," I say, "the auxiliary power connection would only activate when..." 

"No. And that's final!" Trip says with a thunderous scowl. I open my mouth to further argue my point, but then suddenly realize that we have spent the last half hour fighting about the power supply to the phase cannons. I start to grin. 

This is old and familiar territory. We have been so excruciatingly polite around each other for the past three months. This argument feels far more real and natural than most of our recent conversations. Trip is looking at me with a puzzled frown, but I just continue to grin. 

"All right, Commander." I say. "You win. This time." I walk back to the armory with a slight spring in my step even though I didn't get what I had originally come for.

______________________________

I start going to movie night on a regular basis. Trip always goes and it gives us something other than work to talk about. I don't know why but it seems to help. Gradually the pain that lies between us begins to ease and by the third week we're sitting together and trading whispered comments about the action on the screen.

______________________________

"Oh come on, Malcolm." Trip says as we make our way out of the mess hall. "You can't tell me that you didn't enjoy the movie. It had all kinds of explosions."

"I didn't say that I didn't enjoy it. I just said that it was completely unrealistic. I mean, really, the EX-32 rifles have a lot of firepower, but only at short range. There's no way the hero could have made that shot. Now if it had been a HV-42 he might have had a chance..." 

"It's just a movie, Malcolm." Trip says. 

"I know, but you'd think they'd put a little research into these things. And don't tell me that it's just a movie. Need I remind you that you're the one who spent two hours pointing out all the errors in warp theory and mechanics in last week's movie?" 

"That was different." 

"Really?" I say skeptically. 

"Yeah." 

"How?" 

"It just was, is all." He says evasively. "Hey, I've got some beer in my quarters. You want to join me for a drink?" 

"Certainly." I reply with a smile. "But you're changing the subject. How was it different? I'd really like to know." As we continue down the corridor arguing good-naturedly with one another, I realize that I feel completely at ease in his company. It's been a long time since I've felt that way.

______________________________

"Checkmate." I say. Trip gazes down at the chessboard in disgust.

"You know, I don't know why I play this game with you. You always win." 

"You're improving." I say encouragingly. "You'll beat me yet." 

"Yeah, right." 

"Seriously." I say. "You're really quite good at this for someone who hasn't played since high school. If you want, I could give you some books to read..." Trip shakes his head and grins at me. 

"Nah, it's more fun to figure it out on my own." He starts to put the pieces away and I reach out to help. Our hands collide as we both reach for the white queen. His fingers are just barely brushing mine and yet the touch is utterly electrifying. My heart pounds painfully in my chest as I slowly and deliberately entwine our fingers together. He doesn't pull away. 

Throwing caution to the wind, I lean across the chessboard and kiss him gently on the lips. When I pull back I find him staring at me, his face stricken. It's not the reaction I had been hoping for or expecting. I have the feeling that I've just made a disastrous blunder. 

"I'm sorry." I say. "I shouldn't have." I start to disentangle our fingers, but his hand tightens on mine. 

"No! Don't go." He says. "I don't want you to go. I just didn't think you'd ever want... I didn't think you felt that way about me anymore." 

"I never stopped loving you, Trip. Even when I wanted to." I think it's the wrong thing to say because Trip still looks quite upset. But he doesn't let go of my hand. 

"I never wanted to hurt you." He says sadly. "I'm sorry that I hurt you." 

"I'm sorry too, Trip." 

"You don't have to apologize to me, Malcolm." 

"I think I do. I know I hurt you that night." I don't have to specify which night I'm talking about. We both know, although it's the first time that either of us has ever mentioned it. Trip fidgets a little. 

"Yeah, well, I deserved it." 

"No you didn't. I was so angry that it never occurred to me that you were hurt and confused as well. I should have seen it." 

"Still. I think I hurt you a lot more than you..." 

"Trip," I interrupt. "Do you want to give this relationship another try?" 

"Yes." He answers without hesitation. 

"Then I think we need to let go of what happened. Things are different now." 

"But..." 

"Let's just try to make it work this time. All right?" 

"Okay." He says softly. He releases my hand and comes around the desk to kneel in front of me. He wraps his arms around my waist and lays his head in my lap. I can feel him trembling. 

"Are you all right?" I ask, stroking my hands gently over his back. 

"I am now." He says. I pull on his shoulders until he's sitting upright and then I slither off my chair and into his lap, my legs straddling his. 

"Good." I say. "Because so am I." I lean forward to kiss him, but my sudden motion puts us both off balance and we topple awkwardly to the floor. I prop myself up on my elbows and look down at him. We both grin and then start to laugh. I can't believe how good it feels, to be touching him, to be laughing with him like this. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me to his chest. 

"Oh, Malcolm." He says, his voice heavy with emotion. "I've missed this. I've missed us being together so much." 

"Me too, Trip." I say. "Me too." 

"Would you like to stay here tonight?" He asks hesitantly. "Not for...uh, I mean to sleep, you know?" 

"I'd like that." I reply with a smile. 

We get ready for bed, taking turns in the bathroom. I linger a little in the small room, thinking about how far we've come. We're friends again, although not like we were before. If anything our friendship is stronger because we both had to work so hard to revive it. It's something we will never again take for granted. And now, once again, we're trembling on the threshold of something greater. That frightens me even though I'm the one who reopened that particular door. 

But when I join Trip on the narrow bunk, my unease evaporates. He's warm and soothingly familiar. And being with him feels like coming home.

______________________________

For weeks all we've done is sleep together, cradled in each other's arms, exchanging nothing more than quick kisses and light touches. We've both agreed that it's time to move forward. But now that the moment is here, we find ourselves sitting on my bunk, regarding each other nervously like a pair of virgins who are unsure of how everything is supposed to fit together.

I think about the half-empty bottle of scotch that is sitting in my closet. Maybe a little Dutch courage would benefit us both, but I don't want to bring any unpleasant associations into play right now, and besides, I want to experience Trip without anything dulling my senses. 

Trip reaches out and strokes his hand down my thigh. I'm not expecting the touch and I jump. He recoils with a startled, worried look on his face. It's enough to make me laugh. Trip stares at me as if I've lost my mind, which only makes me laugh harder. Before long, my mirth starts to infect him. 

We collapse against each other. I'm acutely aware of him--of his clean male scent, of his hard fit body, of the happy golden tones of his laughter. My hand touches his face of its own volition and our laughter dies away as we kiss. I push my tongue against his lips and he yields to me, letting me explore his mouth with impunity. The taste of him is intoxicating. 

We break apart, panting for air. I'm unable to take my eyes off of him. Shaking with excitement, I reach out and start to unbutton his shirt. Although I'm burning with the need to reconnect with him on a physical level, I force myself to go slow. I want this to last. I push the shirt off his shoulders and run my hands over his bare skin. I rub my thumbs over his nipples and he throws his head back with a sharp gasp. 

"Malcolm." He whispers. He slides his hands down my sides and then pulls my shirt up over my head, dropping the garment carelessly over the side of the bed. 

He pushes me down onto the pillows and begins to trail a line of kisses down my body. Suddenly he stops. Confused, I raise my head. 

He's staring at the scar on my chest. It's something that I will carry with me for the rest of my life, but I don't want him thinking about it or what it represents right now. I don't want either of us thinking about how close we came to never having this moment. I put my fingers under his chin and raise his eyes to mine. 

"It doesn't hurt anymore." I say truthfully. And then I pull him down and kiss him to remind him of what really matters. 

We slowly shed the rest of our clothing. I explore the familiar contours of his body with my hands and mouth. I gasp and shiver as he does the same to me. 

"I want you...I want you in me." He says, his voice low and hoarse. 

"Yes." I say breathlessly. I shift him over onto his back. He lets his legs fall open and smiles at me invitingly. My breath catches in my throat. He's incredibly beautiful. 

I take my time, slowly preparing him for penetration, teasing him with my tongue and fingers. I'm thrilled by his enthusiastic reactions to my increasingly intimate touches. 

"Please. Oh, please." He whispers and my resolve to go slow crumbles. I push eagerly into his body, urged on by his soft moans of delight. 

Pleasure sparks through me as I thrust into him. He rocks his hips up to meet me each time, driving our bodies together. I know I won't last much longer so I reach down and grasp his hard cock in my hand. A single firm stroke is all it takes. He cries out and the low ecstatic sound is enough to send me over the edge as well. 

Breathing hard, I collapse down onto him. He puts his arms around me and holds me close, pressing soft kisses into my hair. 

"You okay?" He asks. I lift my head to look at him. 

"Oh, yes." I say with a smile. "Never better. You?" 

"Happy as a cat in a creamery." I laugh and shift to relieve him of my weight. 

"I love you Trip Tucker." 

"I love you too Darlin'." Trip reaches down and pulls the blanket over us. I snuggle up against his side and slowly drift off into a deep contented sleep.

______________________________

The three weeks that follow are some of the happiest of my life. But my newfound bliss is suddenly shattered when Archer calls the bridge staff into the situation room and announces that T'Pol will be returning to Enterprise. My heart plummets. Trip shoots me a panicked look from across the table. I avert my eyes and try to pretend that the news doesn't faze me as badly as it really does.

I wonder why T'Pol has chosen to come back to Enterprise now, after so much time has passed. Much has changed, but I don't know if what I have built with Trip will be strong enough to survive her return. 

The rest of the meeting passes in a blur. When it's over I make my excuses to Archer and head for the armory. I need time to think. 

Trip follows me into the lift. He shifts and fidgets uneasily next to me. Several times during the short uncomfortable ride I think he's going to say something, but he never does. The lift slows and stops. Trip looks at me as the door opens. I'm not sure how to interpret what I see in his eyes. 

"I...I'll see you later, okay?" He says as he exits the lift. 

"All right." My voice is strained, but at least it doesn't waver. Trip gives me a tight nervous smile and a tentative wave before he strides off down the corridor. I watch him go in dismay. The bridges of love and trust we have rebuilt over the past eight months suddenly seem very thin and fragile.

______________________________

I try to push my worries into the back of my mind and focus on recalibrating the targeting scanners. I fail miserably at both tasks. I'm too anxious and upset to concentrate on anything productive for long.

I know I need to talk to Trip. Maybe he isn't thinking about leaving me. After all, the bond he shared with T'Pol is gone, shattered beyond all repair. Perhaps I'm just overreacting, driven by my fear of being abandoned yet again. 

I go looking for Trip at lunch, but he's nowhere to be found. His absence only increases my alarm and I can't help but wonder if he's actively avoiding me. 

I don't even bother trying to find him after my shift. I drag myself down to the mess hall and make myself a cup of tea. The way my stomach feels, I don't think I can choke down anything solid. 

I sit in the corner and watch the stars. I wonder if it's time for me to leave Enterprise. Perhaps Captain Hernandez could use another tactical expert on Columbia, or maybe I should just give in and go back to working for Harris. Even that would be less painful than staying here and watching Trip and T'Pol get back together. 

"Malcolm, I really need to talk to you." I look up in surprise. Lost in my dark thoughts, I hadn't heard Trip's approach. 

"Not here." I manage to say. I don't think I can survive being dumped in the highly public venue of the mess hall. 

His quarters are the closest. I perch nervously on the edge of his bed and place my hands on my knees to prevent them from shaking. Trip paces fretfully in front of me. I wish he would just get it over with and tell me that he's leaving me. 

After taking several more circuits of the room, he suddenly drops to his knees and holds something out to me. 

"What's this?" I ask in confusion as I reach out to take the small glittering object. 

"Malcolm, will you marry me?" He blurts the words out in a rush. My mouth drops open in shock. This is the last thing I was expecting. 

"A-an engagement ring?' I stutter. I stare dumbfounded at the plain gold band in my hand. 

Trip blushes and looks down at the floor. "I know it's not much." He says. "I was kinda pressed for time when I made it so it's not as pretty as it could be, but..." 

"You made this?" I ask in amazement. "For me?" Trip gives me a puzzled look. 

"'Course it's for you. I gave it to you didn't I? I love you, Malcolm. I want to spend the rest of my life with you." 

My hand closes convulsively over the ring. I can feel myself trembling and I close my eyes against the sudden urge to cry. I want so very badly to say yes, but I know that he's asking me for all the wrong reasons. 

"Malcolm?" Trip asks nervously, still waiting for my answer. I open my eyes and smile at him. 

"No." I say as I hand the ring back to him. He stares at me, obviously crushed. 

"It's not the right time." I explain gently. "We shouldn't get married simply because we're feeling insecure or worried about our relationship. I love you and maybe someday we will get married. But not right now. We should let what we have grow for a while." 

He toys with the ring for a bit and then sighs. "You're right." He says softly. He looks up and gives me a small smile. "You know, I find it a little ironic that you once told me that you weren't very good at all this relationship stuff." 

"I think I'm finally starting to figure it out. I think we both are. Trip, we can make this work. It might be a little awkward with T'Pol back on the ship, but I don't think it will change what we have together. Not this time." 

"So I should hold onto this?" He asks, rolling the ring between his index finger and thumb. 

"Absolutely." I say with conviction.

______________________________

We're lying spooned together on his bunk. His body is a warm and comforting presence against my back. He fell asleep a while ago, but I'm still awake. His breath tickles lightly against my neck, but I don't mind. I'm happy and content in a way that I've never been before.

I don't have to tell myself that this is what I want, or that he loves me, or that we're going to be fine. I don't have to convince myself, because I already know these things in my heart. 

~the end~


End file.
